


hold on, hold on, let me get the words out before i burst

by AuroraWest



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anniversary, Brother Feels, Developing Relationship, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Loki (Marvel) Has Issues, Loki Is Bad At Feelings, M/M, New Asgard, Post-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22673206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraWest/pseuds/AuroraWest
Summary: New Asgard celebrates the spring feast. The day holds special significance for Loki.
Relationships: Brunnhilde | Valkyrie & Loki (Marvel), Loki & Thor (Marvel), Loki/Stephen Strange, Stephen Strange & Thor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 86
Collections: MHEA Harlequin Hoopla Prompt Challenge 2020





	hold on, hold on, let me get the words out before i burst

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Marvel HEA's Harlequin Hoopla, romance prompt for February 11: first anniversary.
> 
> Title from Snow Patrol's 'Lifeboats.'

The coltsfoot was blooming, carpeting the cliff and standing out bright against the pale spring sky. Loki turned his head, looking at one of the blooms bobbing next to his head. He wiggled his fingers where they were linked behind his head and settled back to stare at the sky. Blue and clear, the sun getting higher and higher in it as it traced a path from horizon to horizon every day.

He breathed in deeply, smelling the sea and the dirt and the grass coming up after the long Norwegian winter. Gulls called as they floated on updrafts and he watched them, his eyes following their graceful turns above him.

Footsteps crunched on the grass and Loki said, “You’re late.”

“I had a situation.”

With a snort, Loki said, “Really. What was it this time, the Purple Dimension?”

Stephen Strange sat down next to him cross-legged and put his hands on his knees. “For your information, Demonicus.”

Craning his neck to look at Strange, Loki raised his eyebrows and said, “ _Demonicus?_ I should think you’d have been able to dispatch him easily.”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “Keeping me humble.”

“As always,” Loki replied, his smile sharp-edged.

With a chuckle, Stephen lightly ran his fingers through Loki’s hair. “I’d apologize, but I was kind of, you know, protecting your reality.”

“Mm.” Loki pushed himself up on an elbow, putting a hand on Strange’s knee and running it up his thigh to his waist. “And you think I wouldn’t hold that against you.”

Raising his eyebrows, Strange said, “Oh, no, I know you would.” Then, his face suspiciously straight, he added, “Though I can think of better things you could hold against me.”

Loki withdrew his hand immediately and rolled onto his back again. “No. Gods. _Norns._ Terrible. Strange, I can’t.”

Laughing, Stephen said, “Can’t what?”

“Can’t be with someone who would even contemplate saying something so mortifying. For heaven’s sake.” The coltsfoot bloom bobbed towards his face again, tickling his nose, and he sneezed.

“Gesundheit.”

“No, don’t. You can’t talk.” Loki shaded his eyes, then flicked his gaze to Strange, who was staring at him and smiling slightly. His heart did something stupid. Bubbly. _Effervescent_. Pathetic. Stephen’s bangs were flopping over his forehead and his eyes were a mix of blue and green today, the color of the sky and the grass, and his crooked smirk was making Loki’s brain fizz.

He reached up and stroked Stephen’s fingers, feeling the scars that ran down them. Sometimes, he knew, the old injury gave him pain, but he seemed fine today. Loki had surreptitiously begun experimenting with healing magic so he could ease Strange’s pain, but there was no one to teach him, so it was all experimentation. Thor and Jane were usually his test subjects, but sometimes he had to cause pain to Thor in order to see if his healing spells were any good.

“Can I talk yet?” Stephen asked.

Loki snorted. “Can’t you be silent for five minutes?”

“Only if I have something else to do with my mouth,” Stephen said, waggling his eyebrows.

Looking at him flatly, Loki asked, “Are you done?”

“Sorry.”

“You’re not at all sorry.”

Stephen covered Loki’s hand with his, then raised it to his mouth and kissed his knuckles, holding his gaze. “Yeah, fine. I _am_ sorry I’m late, though.” His lips moved down Loki’s index finger slowly, then he sucked on the tip of it. Which was deeply unfair, considering they had a feast to go to soon and this definitely wasn’t motivating him to get up.

Arching an eyebrow, Loki said, “You know, I was going to reassure you that I was never actually annoyed, but if you’re going to keep doing that, maybe I _am_ angry and require further placating.”

With a grin, Stephen stretched out on the ground next to him, sliding a hand into Loki’s hair as he leaned down and kissed him. Loki pulled him closer, closing his eyes and running his hands over Stephen’s back.

And he could have done that for…awhile, but after several minutes, Loki reluctantly broke the kiss, murmuring into Stephen’s lips, “Unfortunately, I _do_ have to put in an appearance at the Ostara Feast.”

“Uh huh.” Leaning down again, Stephen kissed him more slowly and deeply, opening Loki’s mouth and making it even more difficult to contemplate going to that feast. In fact, feast? What feast? He could stay right here all day, Stephen Strange’s lips on his and his hands roaming, the spring breeze soft and carrying the promise of warmth and the sound of the waves below the cliffs. The two of them together. And with everyone at the feast and no chance that someone might wander past, they could really be… _together_.

No, Thor would kill him. Not really, of course. His brother would just shout and rage at him a bit, and the rage wouldn’t really be much. Loki would just stand there, staring vaguely upwards, smiling a bit contritely, and nod along.

Brunnhilde, though, _she_ would kill him, legitimately, blade through the heart kill him.

Making a frustrated noise, Loki kissed Stephen hard, then slithered out from underneath him. “I have to go,” he sighed. “It comes with the whole Prince of Asgard territory.” Getting to his feet and offering Stephen his hand, he said, “You’re in for a treat. I don’t say that lightly.”

Stephen brushed grass off his clothes, but with a thin smile, Loki magicked all evidence that they’d been on the ground away. Smiling slightly, Stephen said, “I know. An Asgardian feast. It’s an honor to be invited, I have to say.”

“Of course you’re invited,” Loki said distractedly, mentally rummaging through his pocket dimension. Where was it? He’d brought it along just in case he hadn’t felt like going home and changing, and—ah, good. There. With a flick of his fingers, his clothes transformed from what he’d been wearing, which had been a style very particular to their little corner of Norway. Two-thirds Midgard, one-third Asgard. Loki was hoping it would catch on in the wider fashion community. Really, you could never have enough metal and leather on your outfit, could you?

In their place was, in contrast, clothing that was wholly Asgardian. Black and green leathers inset with gold, pants that—alright, so the pants actually owed more to Midgard than Asgard, but to be honest they _did_ know how to cut a pair of trousers here. They were leather though, with a braid of green and gold running down the side of each leg. His longcoat was inset with panels of bright green and the sleeves had intricate knotwork running down them, finishing in a repeating pattern of the Asgardian triquetra around the hem of each sleeve.

Loki looked down at himself, adjusting the fit in a few places, then held out his arms and looked at Stephen. “Well?”

The same sardonic smirk was still on Stephen’s face and he replied, “No one ever said you don’t clean up nice.”

It was hard not to preen a bit. Loki tried, though, as he ran a hand through his hair. Of course he cleaned up nice. As far as looking the part, Loki wasn’t the one anyone had to worry about today. It was Thor who could sometimes be a problem, deciding at the last second that he didn’t _feel_ like wearing what Brunnhilde had asked him to. He’d always say, “Well, I’m not the king, what does it matter?” and both Loki and Brunnhilde would sigh, united in their dismay.

Last year Brunnhilde had snapped, “I never thought I’d say this, but can you be more like your brother?”

Which had made Loki smirk and Thor grumble that Loki had got an ear cuff to match his coronet. Brunnhilde had stared at him in disbelief, rubbed at her temples, and left. And Loki, who’d been in a very good mood one year ago today, had unhooked his ear cuff—which did match his coronet, and which was quite handsome—and offered it to his brother.

At which Thor had met his gaze, noted the content, irrepressible smile on Loki’s face, and got a knowing look in his eyes. “Thank you, brother, but you keep it,” Thor had said. “It was made for you, anyway.” Then, a smile had crept onto his face. “You seem very happy—”

And Loki had held up a hand and said, “Stop.” When the smile on Thor’s face had grown wider, Loki had repeated, “ _Stop._ ” But then he’d rather ruined it by flushing faintly and mumbling, “Look, maybe if I drink enough, I’ll tell you what happened.”

“Is your wizard still here?”

Flushing more deeply, Loki said, “He’s not my wizard.” Thor had made a noise that had sounded suspiciously like a laugh and Loki had added, “I’ve been many shades of cruel in my life, but none that bad. I would never demand anyone’s presence at the Asgardian spring feast so soon in a…well, so soon.”

“In a relationship,” Thor had helpfully supplied.

“Shut up, brother.”

Thor had grinned, but at least he’d stopped talking and put on the overcoat and coronet that Brunnhilde wanted him to wear.

Blinking, Loki came back to the present, smiling at Stephen. While neither Thor nor he wanted the throne, they’d retained the titles out of a sort of ceremonial obligation, a nod to the past while they all made their way into the future, feeling it out day by day. There was a lot of that going on in Loki’s life lately. After all, what were him and Stephen doing, if not attempting to figure out this brave new world of—alright, yes, fine. Their relationship.

“Did you bring Wong like I told you to?” Loki asked. “I have a ceremonial role to play in the proceedings tonight. You’ll probably get bored while I’m doing that.”

Taking Loki’s hand in his, Strange said, “I’m not sure what assumption I like most about that, the fact that you think I can’t make friends with my tablemates, the fact that I won’t be interested in the ceremony, or the fact that you think you’re the main barrier between boredom and me.”

Loki held up a finger to address each point. “You don’t always play well with others, _I_ wouldn’t be interested in the proceedings if I had to watch them, and for heaven’s sake, Stephen.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m by far the most interesting person you know.” A breeze gusted off the sea and swept Loki’s hair across his face, and as he tucked it back behind his ears, he caught Stephen looking at him. “What?” he asked. A worrying thought occurred to him suddenly, that perhaps Strange didn’t enjoy their banter as much as he did.

But Stephen squeezed his hand tighter and said, “Nothing. Just looking.”

Loki turned his head to cast his eyes out over the sea, calm today and a serene blue that was unusual for March. The first day of spring was often wintry, or at least not pleasant. And regardless of the warmth in the air, the sea was usually still rough. It _was_ beautiful, especially up on the cliffs. Loki had always had the wherewithal to admit that, even when he’d hated the very idea of New Asgard.

“Hey,” Stephen said. Loki looked back to him. There was a soft look in his eyes. “I know you didn’t like it here at first, and maybe you still don’t want to hear this, but you really look like you belong here. Especially up here, like this, with the cliff behind you and the wind messing up that perfect hair of yours.”

When he reached out again to tangle his fingers in Loki’s hair, Loki smiled thinly and said, “You know, I’ve been told to take a walk off these cliffs.”

“Wow.” Stephen snorted. “You really know how to ruin a moment, don’t you?”

“Actually yes, it’s one of my very particular talents,” Loki said.

Strange rolled his eyes. “Okay, Your Highness. Let’s go. I have a ball to get you to and I don’t think your brother or your king would be happy if you were late.”

“Perhaps not,” Loki said, “but they wouldn’t exactly be shocked.” But he tugged on Stephen’s hand and started back towards New Asgard.

The village was bustling when they got there, banners and garlands being strung up between the buildings. Loki had procured the necessary flowers and plants for the garlands at a substantial discount thanks to charm and a little bit of cheap flattery. When it had all arrived yesterday, Brunnhilde had said, “This is more than last year, we’ll really be able to decorate the whole village.” It was at that moment that Loki had decided he’d be somewhere else when that process got going.

There was a clatter behind them and Loki glanced over his shoulder to see Korg approaching, lugging a crate full of crockery. “Hey Loki,” he said, “hey Doctor Strange.”

“Korg,” Loki said, nodding to him. “On your way to the ‘Great’ Hall?” He dropped Stephen’s hand to provide air quotes for this and didn’t take it again. If Stephen noticed or minded, there was no indication.

“Yeah, just bringing some extra dishes for the feast, making sure everyone’s got a plate, you know?”

Loki sighed. “It really is a pity neither of you will ever know a proper Asgardian feast.”

Korg shrugged, making the crate shift precariously. “Ah, I dunno. This is something new, yeah?”

With a glance at Stephen, who smiled slightly, Loki said, “I suppose it’s impossible to argue with that.”

“You sure?” Stephen asked, his smile turning to a grin. “I’ve seen you argue a lot of flawed positions.”

Loki just smirked at him as Korg laughed.

Soon, the three of them arrived at the Great Hall. Korg headed to the kitchen while Loki led Stephen down the hallway behind the main hall. It was impossible not to remember the palace on Asgard every time a feast day rolled around—the hours spent putting on their ceremonial wardrobe, the carefully rehearsed steps both Thor and he had to make. Both of them had learned early on that a toe out of line was an embarrassment, unbecoming of princes, even _more_ unbecoming of the sons of Odin, and a surefire way to be shouted at later.

Not that it had stopped Loki from putting his toe out of line early and often. Thor had found it less and less amusing as the years had gone on and he’d become more concerned with playing the part of heir apparent. It had turned into a fight once in their early teens, Loki scowling that Thor was boring, Thor throwing back in his face that Loki didn’t take anything seriously, and Loki, fed up, already knowing that he’d never be seen as worthy of the throne, exploding, “What does it matter? Why _should_ I take anything seriously when no one takes _me_ seriously? I’ll never be _you_ , Thor, I’ll never be _perfect_. So why even try?”

Eventually, their mother had come in, having no doubt been informed of the noise by a passing servant. She’d had to separate them with magic as the two of them had been doing their damndest to kill each other. They’d sat next to each other at the feast, both of them stiffly silent, Loki glaring icily at anyone who dared to meet his eyes and Thor radiating dull anger.

“Thor?” Loki said, as he knocked on the door to one of the small rooms behind the main hall.

There was a muffled noise from inside, which Loki took as permission to enter, and he pushed the door open. Thor was struggling into his armor, which was too small for him. He’d never _quite_ lost all the extra weight he’d carried in the five years between _The Statesman_ and Loki returning from the dead. “Jane was supposed to help me with this,” he grunted.

“Yes, where _is_ my dear sister-in-law?” Loki asked, glancing around the room.

Looking at him in disbelief, Thor said, “You didn’t hear?”

Loki gestured to Stephen, who was leaning against the doorframe, clearly hesitant to fully enter a room containing two gods who were preparing for a deeply ceremonial feast, steeped in thousands and thousands of years of tradition. “I was distracted,” he said.

A smile twitched at Thor’s mouth. “Well,” he said, sobering again, “Hertha passed on. Jane’s escorting her soul to Valhalla.”

“A Valkyrie’s always on the clock, I suppose,” Loki said, stunned by the news of Hertha’s death and, obviously, covering it up by being flippant. It wasn’t exactly the most auspicious start to the Ostara Feast. Still. At least Hertha had made it to Valhalla. He’d have expected nothing else of the old battle axe. She’d been too old for the Valkyries and _far_ too old to reenter Asgard’s fighting forces once Sif had reminded everyone that women made for just as capable warriors, but she’d protected her farm at the edge of Asgard with the ferocity of any Einherjar. And she’d protected New Asgard with the same vigor. A century ago, it probably wouldn’t have earned her a place in Valhalla. But with Jane Foster, Valkyrie, on the job, the wheels of change were grinding into motion.

Their father would never have accepted it. The Asgard of old would never have accepted it. But this was New Asgard. They had the freedom to find new paths.

“So,” Thor said, “she’ll be here.” He shook off his sadness and motioned to Stephen, saying, “Come in, Strange, it’s bad luck to lurk in doorways on Ostara.”

“Oh.” Strange grimaced and quickly stepped into the room, the Cloak of Levitation fluttering behind him. Loki caught Thor’s eye and a smile twitched at his lips. Bad luck? It was no such thing. Dear oh dear, was he rubbing off on his older brother?

Clapping Stephen on the shoulder—which made Stephen’s knees buckle a little—Thor said, “Glad you could come, Stephen. Loki’s never brought anyone to Ostara, and you know, considering the way people like to celebrate—”

Feeling himself flushing red, Loki said, “That’s enough, brother, unless you’d like to give your speech tonight with a knife embedded between your shoulder blades?”

Momentarily, Stephen looked confused, as he glanced back and forth between them. “I don’t understand, what…oh.” Understanding dawned on his face and he smirked. “I guess I’m glad to hear that.”

Thor clapped him on the shoulder again and grinned. “Yes, I already had Loki do a spell to soundproof the walls at home for your celebrating tonight.”

Color rose faintly to Stephen’s face as he stuttered, “No, that’s not what I—I meant I’m glad to hear that he’s never brought anyone else—”

Thor’s grin got wider. The fact that he’d made Stephen blush made Loki bite back a smile. It was a rare enough sight that it needed to be savored. When Loki caught his brother’s eye, Thor winked at him.

Loki picked up his coronet from the table and twirled it around his finger, then tossed Thor’s to him. “Don’t mess up your speech, by the way.”

“That was _one time_ ,” Thor said in an aggrieved tone. “And you were fine, you smoothed it all over.”

“Yes, luckily for you, you have an incredibly well-spoken and quick-thinking brother,” Loki said, arching an eyebrow. “Still, it would have been easier if you hadn’t just exhorted everyone to raise their arses.”

Stephen made a noise that sounded like a snort of laughter, but when the two of them looked at him, he was straight-faced. Not that he was fooling either of them. And Loki knew him well enough now to see the glimmer in his eyes that meant he was dying to know the full story. Later. Provided either of them could still stand. Ostara wasn’t exactly a feast where anyone practiced moderation.

Slipping a ring onto his finger, Thor said, “I think you enjoy it. It keeps you sharp, brother.”

“Mm. Yes. You know I always loved public speaking.”

Stephen chuckled, “You know, the more I hear about Asgard, the more I realize you guys were never that different from us. I mean, thunder and other assorted god-like powers aside.”

Looking pleased, Thor said, “I’ve been trying to tell Loki that for years. I’m very glad you two are together. You’re good for him.”

Loki just sighed.

Maybe another time he’d tell Stephen about the fact that as time had gone on, he’d rarely been allowed to speak at court functions. He’d used the opportunity for mischief one too many times and eventually their father had simply barred him from opening his mouth in front of the assembled courtiers and nobles of the Nine Realms. Which, of course, was exactly what he’d always been angling for. He despised standing in front of a crowd and talking. Not because it made him nervous, particularly, but because he hated the box it forced him into. Do this, act this way, say the right words, we’ll tell you what they are since Norns know you won’t come up with them yourself, Loki.

He took a deep breath. It was one of the first things they’d done away with when they’d started celebrating Asgard’s traditional feasts again. No more boring, stilted speeches glorifying Asgard and her past, the glorious deeds of her warriors and the fealty owed her by the other Realms. That had been Loki’s idea. He’d suggested it right after he’d said very nonchalantly, as though he didn’t much care either way, that perhaps they might celebrate some of the traditional feasts.

The entire advisory council had looked at him—Brunnhilde, his king, Sif, his queen, Thor and Jane (the latter having returned the mantle of The Mighty Thor to the former, and their rekindled romance still fledgling), and Korg—clearly shocked to hear him suggest something of this nature. “Just a thought,” he’d mumbled.

“I think we should do it,” Sif had said, sounding surprised that she was readily agreeing with something Loki had said. They were on better terms now, but at the time—well, the less said, the better.

“I always hated all that ceremonial droning,” Brunnhilde said.

Loki had traced a knot in the wood table with a finger. “Well, we’ll still have to have _some_ ceremonial droning. Can’t ignore the gods, can we?”

“Wait,” Jane had said, looking confused. “The gods have gods?”

Raising his eyebrows at Thor, Loki had said, “Better give the hammer back to her, brother. She hasn’t learned everything about us.”

Thor had cleared his throat awkwardly and Jane had glanced at Loki, a smile twitching at her mouth.

The point was, there were traditional prayers to the gods, their ancestors, the dead, the endless cycle of death and rebirth. Ragnarok, and the new shoots of life that sprouted in the ashes it left behind. And if anyone thought Loki, Jotun by blood, inveterate scoffer when it came to New Asgard, hadn’t valued these Asgardian traditions, then they hadn’t been paying attention.

Unfortunately, everyone had agreed he was the one best suited to deliver these remarks. At home, Loki had threatened to tell Jane about every time Thor had drunkenly and not-so-drunkenly mooned about her during the four years prior unless he volunteered himself for this Very Important Ceremonial Role as well.

So they’d done it together every year since then. Every feast, the two of them were up there together. Loki still didn’t really like standing in front of everyone and speaking, but the fact that it was something they did made it secretly one of his favorite things in the Nine Realms.

Obviously, he would never admit that out loud.

He glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. Nearly time. Setting his coronet on his head, he turned to Stephen and said, “You’d better go out so you can get a good spot. A tip, if I may—you don’t want to be next to the buffet. It takes people forever to get through it. You’ll be listening to other people’s conversations for three-quarters of your meal.”

Stephen chuckled. “Noted.” Their eyes met and Loki felt like he’d been snagged on wire. The force of his feelings hurt sometimes. Much of the time. There was no sweeter pain. Stephen reached up and adjusted the coronet, though Loki knew he’d put it on straight. “So—go get ‘em, I guess? Break a leg? Knock ‘em dead?”

With a dry smile, Loki said, “‘Good luck’ is fine. But to be honest, Strange, you’ll need it more than me.”

Stephen raised his eyebrows in question, but Loki made a shooing motion with his hand. With a wry smile, he took Loki’s hand, squeezed his fingers, and left the room.

Loki stared after him, knowing there was an idiotic smile on his face.

Then Thor had to ruin it by reminding Loki that he was still there, saying, “You could have kissed him brother, I wouldn’t have minded.”

“Shut up,” Loki said loftily.

Thor grinned at him and pulled out his notes for his speech. Loki went to look over his shoulder, pointing out changes he wanted to make. He probably enjoyed the resultant argument a bit too much, but bickering was practically a competitive sport for the two of them at this point. It _was_ sort of a challenge not to bring up the fact that Loki had most certainly _not_ soundproofed any walls in their house and that the only sound Stephen was likely to make later that evening was copious retching as he puked out his guts. Asgardian alcohol wasn’t for the faint of heart. Or, quite honestly, for mortals.

Then it was time, and the two of them went out into the Great Hall, looking every inch the Princes of New Asgard.

And later, after the ceremony, after the magic and the speeches, the eating and drinking too much (drinking far, _far_ too much), after Korg brought his karaoke machine down and Thor and Wong dueted, long after midnight, long after the moon had already set, everyone stumbled home. Or to someone else’s home. Or not, but everyone was forgiving on Ostara and simply averted their eyes.

Loki and Stephen walked out of the Great Hall under their own power, which was more than could be said for Thor, who was being supported by Jane to the best of her ability. They didn’t touch each other, though everything in Loki was buzzing to. It was just, he wasn’t so drunk that he’d pounce on his lover in front of everyone, he just…he didn’t. He wouldn’t. Not his style. Not Stephen’s style, either.

The two of them got to the town square and stopped. It was such a _long_ walk home, up to the top of the hill, then up the stairs to his bedroom. Asgardians were still calling to each other as they made their ways home, so Loki stood there, not moving and looking at the sky. The stars were spinning slightly. Well, the stars always spun, technically, from the point of view of anyone planetbound, but they were spinning far faster than they ought to be.

“You okay?” Stephen asked him.

“Too much to drink,” Loki said, trying to focus on the bright one. Arcturus? Yes. “Always do. Always drink too much, I mean.”

Trembling fingers found his and Loki grasped them tightly, then turned his head as Stephen leaned in and kissed him. He tasted like mead. And wanting. Did that have a taste? Why not. Loki kissed him back and he knew it was sloppy, but Stephen pulled him closer, dropping his hand in favor of sliding his palms up Loki’s neck to his hair, where the coronet was still perched, sitting on his brow.

Stephen’s fingers brushed it and he broke the kiss, looking up at it. “Can’t believe it,” he muttered.

“Can’t believe what?” Loki asked, not entirely happy with the fact that they were suddenly having a conversation.

Reaching up to run a thumb across the coronet, Stephen said, “That I’m dating an alien prince. That I’ve been dating an alien prince and today is our first anniversary and I spent it at a medieval feast. I mean, that’s crazy. I’ve seen a lot of really insane things but this is crazy.”

Suddenly, Loki wished he was more sober. The fizzy feeling from the alcohol went flat, but the fuzz in his brain didn’t go away. “Too crazy?” he asked, hoping his voice didn’t sound as forlorn as it felt like it did. He was afraid it did. He was afraid, always afraid, that people’s affection for him was only skin deep. And maybe he was getting better, maybe his ability to trust was taking root, but this was still so… _new_. Being _in love_ was new.

Stephen looked at him, then he rolled his eyes and pulled him close to kiss him again. “C’mon, Loki,” he breathed as their lips brushed. “I’ve never met anything that’s too crazy for me.”

Loki made a noise and lost himself to the kiss, until finally, several minutes later, he pulled back and said, “I have something for you.” When Stephen looked surprised and a bit confused, Loki waved a hand vaguely. “First anniversary. I wasn’t—I thought—I didn’t know if you’d remember, so I thought, if you don’t, I’d just…maybe not give this to you, and—I need to stop talking. I’m talking _far_ too much.”

With a laugh, Stephen said, “Keep talking. I like hearing what’s going on in your princely head.” He tangled his fingers in Loki’s hair and the look on his face got softer. “Never met anyone who thinks as much as you, except maybe me.”

“Is that a compliment or a slight?”

“Neither,” Stephen said. “It just means…” But he trailed off for long enough that Loki knew he wasn’t going to finish the thought. Finally, he just said, “It means I love you.” He ran his thumbs over Loki’s cheekbones and repeated in a quieter voice, “I love you.” Loki leaned in to kiss him, but then Stephen said, “But you shouldn’t have gotten me anything because I didn’t get anything for you.”

Loki drew back, arching an eyebrow. “It’s not a quid pro quo.”

“Latin.” Stephen seemed proud of himself for recognizing this and Loki made a mental note to tease him for how easily he impressed he was by his own cleverness when he was drunk. Though, honestly, he was pretty impressed by his own cleverness when he was sober, too. “I taught you that.”

Casually, Loki replied, “ _Latinum docui meis._ ”

“Show-off,” Stephen said, swaying a little. Loki slipped an arm around his waist. “So what did you get me?”

For a moment, he considered lying and saying there wasn’t actually a gift, he’d just said it and not meant it, he was a liar, ha ha. But instead, he licked his lips and held out a hand. From his pocket dimension, a small brooch materialized on his palm. He kept his fingers curled around it, staring at it, before he looked up and met Stephen’s eyes, then took a step back so he could hold out his hand.

It was too dark to see. Of course. Obviously. With a breath through his nose, Loki conjured a small, floating orb of light, which bobbed next to his hand.

The brooch was small, round, and made of gold. Two concentric circles, forming an outer band, were filled with runes, and inside the smaller circle were rune staves branching off a final circle in the center. “It’s called the Vegvisir,” Loki said. “When an Asgardian sets out on a journey, especially a first journey, we pin it to our cloaks. It’s to provide guidance and safety.” He stared down at it, nervous about meeting Strange’s eyes. “When Thor and I first went into battle, our mother gave us each one.”

The tiny, sober part of his mind told him to stop talking. The drunk part of him, though, shrugged and remembered that Stephen had just said he liked hearing Loki speak. And the alcohol had certainly loosened his tongue. So he went on, “I’m not very good at being…that is…I’m not romantic. I’m…I know what I am. Challenging. High maintenance, in Jane’s words. Generally difficult. Capricious and often cruel. Confusing and confused.” _For heaven’s sake stop talking._ “I don’t pretend otherwise, I never have, but I…” He drew in a deep breath. “I fear, I always fear, that you’ll see one day that I really _meant_ it. And you’ll realize that this is how I am, that I’ll never be any different, that you made the mistake I tried to warn you about, and…” _You’ll leave_. “Anyway. I…don’t remember why I thought I should say any of that.”

Sober Loki was screaming, but Drunk Loki couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “But the point is, I’m not romantic, but perhaps _this_ is, just a bit, because I suppose this is a—” Another deep breath. “—a journey. The beginning. One year of you putting up with me,” he added with a small, wry smile.

Finally, he glanced up at Stephen. Best do it now, while the alcohol was still really coursing through his veins. Soon it would start wearing off. Perhaps he should have drunk even more, so that he wouldn’t remember any of this if it went badly. “So,” he finished, rather lamely.

Stephen didn’t say anything and Loki felt his heart tighten. Had he made a terrible mistake? Sober Loki was beginning to reassert himself and _he_ knew, obviously, that all of this had been utter, utter madness. Better to have handed Stephen the gift and left it at that, wished him happy anniversary, stumbled up the hill and gone to his bedroom. But _no_ , he’d had to wax rhapsodic, he’d had to share his _feelings_ , he’d had to explain everything and pour his heart out and he was lucky Stephen hadn’t already opened a portal and left.

“Loki,” Stephen said softly. And then, “Loki, you…” He slid his fingers over Loki’s and opened them gently, picking up the brooch delicately, careful not to let it slip out of his trembling fingers. Looking up and meeting Loki’s eyes, then putting a hand to Loki’s chest, over his heart, he said, “There’s no mistake.” His fingers splayed, his palm warm, even through Loki’s leathers. “I love you.”

Inarticulate, for Stephen. But that was what Asgardian mead would do to you. Loki covered Stephen’s hand with his.

Wincing, Stephen said, “Now I _really_ feel like a jerk for not getting you anything.”

With a sniff, Loki said, “What? Why?” He curled his fingers around Stephen’s. “You came here tonight. I’m sure you would much rather simply gone to an overpriced restaurant?”

“Guilty.” Stephen shrugged. “I would have gotten us reservations at a nice one, though.”

Loki lifted his fingers to his mouth, kissing each one of them slowly. “The point is that instead of…whatever it is that humans do to celebrate milestones, you came _here._ You spent the night getting drunk, singing Asgardian songs, listening to my absurd brother do bad karaoke—and did you do shots of Brunnhilde’s special brew with her?” The queasy look on Stephen’s face was answer enough. “You’re going to be terribly hung over tomorrow morning,” Loki said, a smile twitching at his mouth.

“If I forget Wong’s and Thor’s rendition of “Time of My Life,” it might be worth it,” Stephen said.

“There’s a direct correlation between the amount of alcohol Thor consumes and his ability to sing.” Loki leaned forward and kissed Stephen. “I’m trying to say though…” He kissed Stephen’s hand again. “I’m trying to say, Stephen, I got you a trinket. You…” Drawing in a breath, he said, “You agreed to come here tonight and surround yourself with these…people. This…family that I seem to have found. That means more to me than you can know.”

Sober Loki just buried his face in his hands.

But Stephen put his hands on the sides of Loki’s face and said, “Maybe you didn’t hear me, Odinson. I love you. Of course I wanted to come. I just—” He put a hand over his mouth. “—ugh, Christ, what was in that stuff?”

“I won’t take that personally,” Loki said with a tiny smile. “But to answer your question, you don’t want to know. The fact that you’re standing at all is a miracle, Doctor.” Though he might not be for much longer. He was beginning to look a little green and his eyes were unfocusing more. That was one of the extra fun things about doing shots with the Valkyrie—whatever she was putting in that stuff, it took a deceptively long time for it to take effect.

Stephen slid an arm around Loki’s waist and leaned into him. His arm was warm, strong (for a human), a solid weight around his back. Loki could feel the Vegvisir still held in his hand. “I’m not going anywhere,” Stephen said.

“If you pass out, I _was_ thinking of bringing you home to sleep it off—”

“Not what I mean.” Stephen turned his face to brush his lips along Loki’s jaw. “I mean, don’t worry. I know you. I know who you are. You’re wrong that you don’t change because I’ve watched you change, and it’s the reason…” He trailed off, and Loki wondered if he’d blacked out. But after a moment, he continued, “You should give yourself more credit, Odinson. You really should. And I don’t want you to be anyone but who you are.”

Loki closed his eyes. “You hardly know me. I’m so much older—”

“Oh come on. That’s bullshit. Stop.”

“Well, this conversation has taken a turn,” Loki said dryly. “I think you’re getting drunker.”

Stephen leaned his forehead against the side of Loki’s head. “I’m definitely getting drunker. The point is, though…the point is…” When he lapsed into silence again, Loki waited. His lover was breathing, so that was a good sign. “I know you, Loki. I may not know everything about you, but I _know_ you. I know the stuff you’ve done. But I’ve lived lifetimes. Millions of futures. Millions of deaths. You can trust me on this. I’m not going anywhere.”

There was a sting in Loki’s eyes which he blinked away. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that Stephen was much, much older than him in some ways. “Trust,” Loki murmured. “That’s…difficult for me.”

“Yeah, I know. You don’t really do trust.” When Loki didn’t say anything, Stephen added, “Except you’re trying.”

Laughing quietly, Loki said, “I have to. The people in my life keep showing a truly bewildering faith in me.” He put a hand to Stephen’s hip. His head was fuzzy. It felt, somehow, as though he’d been tricked into trying, as though the world had conspired against him to give him a reason to pursue his better nature, rather than his demons. The Norns had shoved people he liked in his face, people he cared too deeply about to do anything but fight for tooth and nail.

“It’s really simple. We like you. Aren’t you s’posed to be the smart one in the Norse pantheon?” Stephen said. His words were slurring more. Loki rolled his eyes. Brunnhilde and her special brew. At least the hospital in Tønsberg would be prepared to pump out Stephen’s stomach if it came to that. It wouldn’t be the first time someone from New Asgard had come in after having foolishly partaken in shots with her.

“You’re very drunk, Stephen,” Loki said. And he likely wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning. Which was good. Loki had bared far too much of his heart, first anniversary or no. He wasn’t even someone who should care about something like a first anniversary. The alcohol had done it.

Right. And the alcohol had made him ask Volund, the only surviving Asgardian metalsmith, to make the Vegvisir two months in advance of this day.

Stephen’s face pressed into the side of Loki’s head. “Yeah.” There was a silence. “I’m trying not to vomit on your boots.”

Loki bit back a chuckle. It wouldn’t be right to laugh at his lover in this state. Not that a little thing like what was right or wrong had ever stopped Loki. “You’ll probably feel better if you vomit. But I support you trying _not_ to do so on my boots.”

There was a slow breath in his ear but no answer. No vomiting either. Loki closed his eyes and held Stephen, trying to ignore the fact that he still felt quite drunk himself. Maybe it was just because he _was_ quite drunk still, but he wanted to believe Stephen. He wanted to trust.

He turned his head to kiss Stephen on the forehead. Stephen made a noise, brought a hand up, and squeezed Loki’s shoulder weakly. “Were you planning on inviting me up to your bedroom?” Stephen asked, the effort he was putting into speaking very obvious.

“I’m planning on _carrying_ you to my bedroom,” Loki said. “You’ll never make it up the hill in this state, let alone the stairs.” When Stephen’s fingers tightened on his shoulder, he added, “I’ll sleep downstairs.”

With a quiet chuckle, Stephen said, “Oh, don’t do that. Then you won’t be there in the morning once I’ve slept off this horrible stuff.”

“Oh, you mean for the splitting headache, the dry heaves, and the cold sweat?” Loki asked, raising an eyebrow. “That was rather the idea.”

Stephen rocked back on his heels and met Loki’s eyes. “You don’t fool me,” he said.

Loki pressed his lips together and looked at the ground. “I know,” he replied. “That’s always been the problem.”

His hand still on Loki’s shoulder, Stephen asked, “Problem, huh?”

Loki put a finger under Stephen’s chin, then traced it up and over his jaw line. “Yes. It’s a problem I’m very glad to have, though.” Flicking his wrist, he extinguished the floating orb of light that had been illuminating them. They didn’t need an audience for this.

Stephen leaned forward and kissed him slowly. He still tasted like mead. It was clear that he was too drunk to do much more than kiss, but Loki still lost himself to it, his mouth open and his stomach dropping straight out of his body as he let himself stand chest to chest and hips to hips with Stephen. None of this, not a single part of it, was something Loki could have predicted. New Asgard, the family he’d made for himself here, this human wizard that he’d fallen in love with and who loved him back.

Putting an arm around Stephen’s back and pulling him towards home, Loki smiled to himself. His life was…good. He’d never get used to it, and he didn’t want to.

“Happy anniversary,” he said, half hoping that Stephen wouldn’t hear him.

Stephen reached out and found one of Loki’s hands, his fingers trembling but his grip somehow one of the steadiest things Loki had ever felt. “The first of many,” he said. Loki forced himself to take a deep breath and not disagree, even though he knew Stephen saw the urge to on his face. “The first of many,” Stephen repeated more quietly.

His fingers interlaced with Loki’s and finally, Loki nodded. Trust. New beginnings. A journey they were embarking on together. The Vegvisir was in Stephen’s hand.It was coincidence that they marked their anniversary on the day of the spring feast, but at the same time, there was no more appropriate day.

Loki smiled and tightened his hold on Stephen’s hand. Together, the two of them went home.

**Author's Note:**

> Loki's Latin is supposed to say 'I taught myself Latin,' but it's been a very long time since I've had to translate Latin, so please correct mine if it's wrong.


End file.
